One Floo Over the Coocoo's Nest
by Skycat
Summary: Draco’s been missing, presumed dead, for about a year. When he is rediscovered, they find him changed. This is going to so much fun!


One Floo Over the Coo-coo's Nest

By: Skycat

Chapter One: The Boy Who "Lived"

            He was cold. Had always been cold, it seemed. The only warmth he had came from the occasional body heat of passing rats, which he would quickly kill and eat, as they were the only food he could get anymore. Water, too, was scarce. And light. The only light came from a tiny window at the very top of his stone prison, but only when the sun was just right. It was night, just then, so the darkness was absolute. Had there been more light, it would have revealed a figure that few would recognize. Gaunt, practically skeletal, and covered in muck, slime, and his own wastes, he appeared as though dead. Only his eyes seemed alive. They glittered calmly in the dark, seeming to cast an eerie glow all their own. His lips, cracked and broken, moved constantly, but his voice had long ago gone from lack of water and too much use. A darker shape moved. A strange mist curled around it, seeming to make it more solid than physics would allow. The boy, dressed in filthy, bloodied rags, didn't move as it approached. A sudden movement, and it was on the boy, tearing, ripping, teeth bared, glinting in the non-light. The blackness rolled in, devouring all in its path.

~~~~~

            The war was over. More or less. Harry Potter had defeated the Dark Lord and broke his power. Whether he was dead or not was still waiting to be confirmed by the hero. Interesting how a hero is always the one on the winning side. If Voldemort had won, Harry would have been typecast as evil while Voldemort would have been hailed as the hero. Still, Harry was and remained the hero of the war, whether he wanted to be or not.  Dumbledore had allowed him to hide in the Muggle community with an untraceable spell so that no one save those who knew where he was could find him. Only a few weeks had passed since the final defeat and the world was still trying to sort itself out. Dumbledore was necessary for this. He had finally taken up position as Minister of Magic, not because he wanted to, but because of need. When he took the chair, he had expressly told the public that he'd be stepping down as soon as everything was arranged enough for someone else to take the job. His staff included most of those in the Order that survived. The Weasleys were thoroughly involved, especially the twins, who decided it was their job to keep the atmosphere light, sending treats to the Ministry every week. 

           Remus Lupin was given high honors, despite the fact that he was a werewolf, and was Dumbledore's right-hand man. Alabaster Moody had died in the final battle, killed by Voldemort himself.  Sirius Black was also dead.  

Severus Snape, surprising, survived, despite his spy-work.  He was one of the few not involved. While confirmation of the Dark Lord's death was still in process, Snape was still not safe. Not that he minded, he hated the lime-light. Dumbledore was constantly busy. He traveled nearly every week to meet with important figures from around the globe to work out treaties and organize support programs for the areas hit the worst by the war. Harry had vanished from the magical community, Hermione was learning abroad, and Ron had been offered a position at Hogwarts as a teacher, much to everyone's surprise.

So, everything was more-or-less worked out.

More or less.

           Abigail Strontium was an Auror. Not a very powerful one, nor a particularly weak one. She was never high on the Dark Lord's list of 'Those Who Must Be Killed,' in fact she doubted he ever knew her name. Which, she had always thought, was a good thing. Albus Dumbledore might have known her name, but only in that he seemed to know everything. She was 36 years old and appeared more motherly than like an authority. She was an auror, but not a very high-class one. And she preferred it that way. So, when she was coming home from a shopping trip, she certainly didn't expect to be enveloped by suffocating black mist. Nor did she particularly understand why, after the mist had left, she was holding the body of a boy instead of her groceries. Therefore, she did what any sane person would do in such circumstances. She screamed.

            When she finished, she found that she was still holding the boy. She had also attracted the attention of the muggles who lived around her. Hm. Maybe screaming wasn't such a good idea? She looked down at the boy, surprised to find him so light. She gasped as she got a good look at the child, swallowing hurriedly to keep from vomiting. The boy was a mess. He was covered in burns and muck. His, what could broadly be called, clothing nearly fell off his tiny frame. His emancipated state was terrifying.  Fortunately, his eyes were closed tight.  Abigail didn't think she could handle it if he were looking at her.

           Finally getting over her initial shock, she ran down the street back to her own house at the end of the lane. In her panic she sent her magic ahead and the door popped open just before her arrival. Setting the boy carefully down on her couch, she threw some pink powder into the fireplace, which instantly burst into flame. "Madam Pomfrey, Hogwarts!" she said shakily. Seconds passed, then a head appeared in the fire. It blinked blearily at her for a moment before frowning.

            "Abigail! I thought I told you about contacting me like this!"

            "Oh! Poppy! It's terrible! You have to take a look at this boy! I've never..." she turned green and stopped, swallowing frantically. "It's horrible!" She shook her head wildly. Pomfrey's expression immediately changed to one of business-type worry. "Oh my! Well, floo down here this minute! I've got room, hurry!" The head vanished into the smoke. Abigail knocked off several items off her mantelpiece as she grabbed some floo powder. Spinning, she lifted the boy with an ease that scared her. Tossing a fistful of orange powder, the fire changed into a sparking green flame, she stepped into the flame and said loudly, "Hogwarts Infirmary." The flames roared around her and her armful and they vanished.

            The moment she reappeared, fortunately in the correct fireplace, Madam Pomfrey assaulted her.

            "Where's- Oh, Merlin's testicles! What happened!? No, wait, put him on the bed. Any, I don't care! Now, move aside, you silly woman and let me work!" Pomfrey spun Abigail aside, and, pulling out her wand, set to work.

            Severus Snape was, surprisingly, in a good mood. Of course, the only way the casual onlooker could tell was that his step was a little lighter than normal. His scowl still set in his face, seeming to promise death on all that crossed his path.  Yet, only a quick one, Snape really was in a good mood.  School was out of session, so there were no students to annoy him, plus no Harry Potter, the boy had graduated the year before. The Dark Lord was presumed dead, and while Snape knew better than to presume, it still meant that Voldemort wouldn't try anything for a while. He had also just gotten a new shipment of rare potions ingredients, which included the illegal powdered dragon's blood. He was just on his way to the Infirmary to see if Poppy needed him to make anything for the next school year. Little did he know that he was walking into a war zone.

            After knocking politely, he really was in a good mood, he pushed the door open. "Poppy?" He looked around and his world shattered. Madam Pomfrey was bent over an emancipated body, nearly unrecognizable unless you looked into his wide-open eyes. It was the eyes the shook him. No human should have that look in their eyes. A look of absolute terror and calm. The strange combination shook him more than he'd care to admit. He was at the bedside the moment he saw the body and his breath was torn away at the state he was in. "What happened?" he snapped. Pomfrey didn't seem to hear him.  She was glowing with power as she cast spell after spell of healing. He turned his attention to the unknown woman sitting anxiously on the far side of the room. "You, who are you?" he bit out. The woman trembled visibly.

            "A-A-Abigail Strontium. I-I'm an auror. I, um, found the boy."

            "How? Where?"

            "I-I was just coming home when I was surrounded by this..blackness. It was horrible, I couldn't breathe, I couldn't see, and when it left, that boy was in my arms!" The woman was clearly on the edge of hysterics. "I didn't know what to do! I knew Poppy from my schooling days and she was the first person I thought of!"

            "Are you sure there was nothing else?! Think, woman!"

            "I-I-I'm sure!" Snape spun on his heel and to the fireplace. He grabbed some powder from a dish and flung it into the fireplace.  A few moments later, the face of an old man appeared, his beard melding with the flames and his eyes shone with fire-sparks.  Albus Dumbledore seemed nonplussed at Snape's abrupt summoning, only smiled genially at him.

            "Ah, Severus. How are you? I hope you are having a nice summer."

            "Albus, you need to get to the school as soon as you possibly can. There's an emergency."

            "Oh my! One to get you all stirred up?" Dumbledore's eyes sparkled knowingly. "What is it?"

            "The boy has been found, Albus."

            Dumbledore faltered slightly. His expression suddenly serious. "I see. I'll be there as soon as I can."

            "You know the b-boy?" Abigail asked uncertainly. Snape didn't look at her, but the bed.

            "I'm not sure."

            "What-?"

            "I believe I recognize him.  I prefer to leave it at that."

"I...don't understand."

            Snape didn't say anything.  Abigail sniffled into her damp handkerchief. The room lapsed into silence.  The boy's strange eyes bore into the ceiling, but he didn't appear as though he were conscious.  Poppy began to sweat as the toll of the amount of magic she was using began to wear on her.  Finally, nearly an hour after Abigail had brought him in, she lowered her wand with a sigh.  Raising hooded, tired eyes, she looked around. "Severus!" she said, finally realizing he was there.  Snape nodded solemnly.  Inclining his head towards the prone figure, he asked, "How is he?"

            She snorted. "What do you think?  He's more than half-dead.  It was all I could do to keep him breathing from all the spells I had to cast on him.  His body almost couldn't take it." 

"Interesting."

"Severus?"

           "Hm? It's nothing," Snape frowned.  Madam Pomfrey scowled, placing her hands on her wide hips.  Before she could snap at Snape, however, the doors to the Infirmary slammed open and Dumbledore entered, his robes whipped back in his speedy stride.  His twinkling, blue eyes fell upon the bed and he faltered, mid-step.  "I see," he murmured, staring down at the boy behind half-moon spectacles. 

"Headmaster, I've done all I can for now, but the child needs an entire staff of mediwizards, not just one.  And I'm not sure he can take much more magic in his state, his body just won't take it."

"Potions then," Snape said.

"Assuming we can get him to drink them," Poppy sniffed.  The Potions Master frowned.

"What do you suggest then?" Dumbledore asked as if this were a discussion over a theoretical practice.

"I think we should call in St. Mungo's and get Odyssies and some of his team down here."

Snape coughed. "Is it really that desperate?"

Poppy fingered her wand.  "It just might be."

            Dumbledore was silent as he considered.  "Let's try some of Severus' potions first.  If nothing seems to be working by this time tomorrow, then we'll contact Odyssies.  Ms. Strontium, I wonder if you would mind accompanying Poppy down to the dungeons for those potions?"

            The thought-to-be forgotten auror jumped at being addressed by the powerful, ancient man.  "Right!" she said with more conviction than she felt.  Poppy eyed Dumbledore suspiciously, but ushered Abigail out of the room.  After their footsteps had faded from hearing, Dumbledore turned to look at Severus.  "So, after nearly a year, he turns up just as mysteriously as he vanished."

"It was hardly mysterious. It had to be Lucius' doing, he is the only man cruel enough."

"But to his own son?  Really, now, Severus.  The boy was his only son and heir. Would he really be so cruel?"

"Draco is a stubborn young man, Albus. You and I both know he was hiding something. Perhaps, whatever it was, his father knew, and punished him for it."

"You know what it is, don't you?" Dumbledore's voice was light, but as serious as the grave.

"I suspect only.  A lot of strange things happened during their seventh year."

"Yes, very strange things. Like how Voldemort knew when and where we were going to attack.  We nearly lost the war, Severus.  The Aurors began to think he was all-knowing.  Now, I wonder...?"

"The youngest male Weasley knew some strange things, too, things he shouldn't have known," Snape added, his voice suggesting nothing and saying everything.

            "Hm." Dumbledore and Snape looked at each other for a long moment until movement from the bed caught their attention.  Draco Malfoy, aged eighteen and presumed dead for almost a year, blinked and stirred.  Snape was by his side in an instant with the Headmaster hovering nearby.  "Draco?" Snape asked with uncharacteristic uncertainty.  Frowning at himself he tried again, "Draco," in a more snappish approach.  Draco turned to look at...no, to look _through_ him, as if he wasn't there.  Cracked lips opened, whispering in movement but no sound emerged.  Dumbledore summoned a glass of water, silently passing it to Severus, who held it to Draco's mouth.  Draco didn't seem to notice the liquid presented to him.  Severus then tilted the glass to pour into his mouth.  Most of it trickled out to pool around him.  Finally, Draco swallowed, allowing some of the forgotten liquid slide down his bone-dry throat.  He gagged and coughed.  Coughed so violently that his whole body shook.

            "Drink," Snape ordered, thrusting the cup back to Draco's mouth.  The coughing fit had not subsided, but Draco drank automatically.  Soon, he was gulping eagerly at the water, as would any man dying of thirst.  Quickly, Snape pulled the cup away, frowning when Draco fell back, almost as if he'd expected he'd pull away.  Snape allowed Draco to drink sparingly at first, giving him a few moments to gulp the liquid before pulling back so he wouldn't choke.  However, he didn't allow the boy to drink too much, putting the glass away much sooner than the dying man would have liked.  If he drank too much too fast, or soon, then he'd be sick.  However, Draco made no objections, simply falling back against the pillows and staring blankly at the ceiling.  The two professors watched him carefully. Their patience was finally rewarded.  After a long moment, Draco spoke.  His voice was harsh and broken, barely recognizable as his, and weighted down with many things that he did not speak of.  An entire speech was contained in his few words. His voice was one of calm despair, of one that had accepted his fate and was simply waiting for the outcome.

            "I'm... tired."

____________

Skycat:  For those of you who've read One Flew over the Coocoo's Nest, you'll understand Draco's words.  For those of you who haven't, I'll explain in time.  Do you like my title?  I thought it particularly ingenious.  Do you get it? Flew? Floo? Haha!

            So, okay, this is not a sequel.  I may write a prequel in time if people deem it interesting enough to be so elaborate.  If not, then, well, you're stuck with this!

            Review please!  I shall not update w/o reviews!  My prior experience with Harry Potter fanfics did not provide many fruits of my labor, so I'm hoping for better response here.

            This will be a Daco pairing fic! Even possible slash!  Maybe not! You'll have to keep reading to see! Slash or not depending on the opinion of my readers! I might listen, you never know!


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